


Sherlock: Gold On Maroon

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Colours [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is acting strangely and Sherlock demands to know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Gold On Maroon

**Author's Note:**

> Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

_Sherlock curled in on himself, his heavily bandaged hand resting in John’s lap. ****_

 _‘Sorry,’ he mumbled again, closing his eyes._

 _‘No worries, Sherlock.’ And then, softly and quietly, he leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the forehead._

 _Sherlock smiled and drifted to sleep, John watching over him._

 _John’s phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket without waking Sherlock. He left a warm hand on Sherlock’s arm as he found a new message waiting from an unknown (and probably untraceable) number._

 ****

**_I’m glad I was wrong, Dr Watson._ **

**_MH_ **

_A proud smile lit up John’s tired face and he leaned back on the couch, eyes watching Sherlock softly._

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

Sherlock knew things were changing. He could feel it and see it and smell it and taste it. The way John looked at him was more needy than friendly. They way his eyes had started raking over Sherlock’s body, the way his pupils dilated slightly when Sherlock looked his way. He’d blush, cough, change the subject, he’d do anything to look or get away from Sherlock in those moments.

It took Sherlock more time than normal to understand what was happening. And even then it was someone else telling him, not Sherlock actually getting it himself.

He’d thought all of that was John’s response to Sherlock stopping the cutting. He hadn’t cut himself in two months and his hand had healed. A few new scars but nothing too noticeable. Nothing that showed the darkness Sherlock had once felt, had once fallen victim to.

Why was John acting this way? Sherlock spent many nights puzzling over John Watson’s strange behaviour. The man had started shaving more, had started wearing a strange cologne that Sherlock found oddly nice. He chalked it up to John wanting to have sexual intercourse with Sarah. But then John told Sherlock that he’d stopped seeing Sarah. So where was John spending his nights?

With Gregory Lestrade.

John informed Sherlock that many nights he and the DI ended up at the pub, talking, drinking, laughing, all the usual things that came with friendship.

For some reason this annoyed Sherlock. What did Lestrade think he was doing? John was _his_ friend, _his_ doctor, _his_ colleague. DI Lestrade had no reason, or right, to take John Watson from him.

And he said so the next day. Lestrade turned carefully, eyes locking onto Sherlock’s. Sherlock had always liked that about Lestrade. He didn’t back down, not even if he was outnumbered or outmatched. He’d just stand there, tall, head raised, and look you in the eye.

‘Excuse me?’

‘John is mine,’ Sherlock repeated. ‘Stay away from him.’

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. ‘Er, Sherlock, John and I aren’t... we’re not together.’

That thought hadn’t even crossed Sherlock’s mind. He knew John was straight and that Lestrade was gay. He knew they weren’t together.

But Sherlock was panicking now. What if they _were_ together? What if John was wearing cologne and shaving and putting on nice clothes for Lestrade? What if he suddenly realised he liked men and was after the DI?

Close to hyperventilating, Sherlock stepped back and Lestrade had to grab him. He pushed Sherlock onto a bench to the right of the crime scene and said, ‘Breathe, its okay, just breathe.’

Finally Sherlock got control of himself. ‘You and John?’ he demanded. Before Lestrade could say anything, Sherlock was ranting. ‘No, no, John’s not gay. No, even if he is, you’re not his type. He’s not yours, Lestrade, you can’t take him from me. Go have someone else, not John, please not John. John is mine, not yours, leave him alone. He’s not yours, Lestrade.’

Lestrade just waited and when the lunatic had finished he said, ‘Right, firsts things first. No, I am not John’s type. Second, John has recently discovered a new side to his sexuality. Third, John and I would never get together, Sherlock, mainly because of you. Fourth, John is in love with you, you dickhead.’

Sherlock froze, glancing Lestrade over. The man had been firm, his words straight-forward, his eyes on Sherlock. He wasn’t lying.

‘I... he... what?’

‘John has recently been having erotic dreams about you, Sherlock, ever since you stopped cutting yourself for him.’ He frowned at that but continued. ‘He told me and we talk about it at the pub every few nights. I told him he was completely in love with you. Of course, he tried to deny it, they all do. But he’s slowly realising that he’s in love with you. All I’m wondering is why you haven’t jumped him already.’

‘I... no, no, John’s not in love with me.’

‘Right.’

‘He isn’t.’

Lestrade paused, searching Sherlock’s eyes. ‘You really haven’t seen it? You don’t know?’

‘Seen what?’ Sherlock demanded. ‘Know what?’

‘Jesus, Sherlock; everyone here can see it. John practically has a hard-on every time you look at him.’

‘He... what?’

‘A fucking erection, Sherlock. Jesus, you’re dense. He stares at you, licks his lips, flushes, gets a hard-on, touches you whenever he can, smells you for fuck’s sake. He’s in love with you. It seems you and him are the only ones who haven’t bloody noticed.’

Sherlock had noticed all those things. He’d assumed it was John reacting to Sherlock’s dark cutting needs. He thought John was trying to ignore the images of Sherlock, bloody and broken on the bathroom floor.

But... it was attraction. John’s pupil dilation, his cologne, his sudden fashion change... all of it to get Sherlock’s attention.

He really was dense.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Me either,’ Lestrade said. ‘I’m far better looking than you.’

He was joking, Sherlock knew he was. But he still glared at Lestrade, who smiled.

‘Calm down, Sherlock.’

‘I... I don’t know what to do,’ Sherlock admitted.

‘Go kiss him.’

‘What if we’re wrong?’

‘We’re not.’

‘I... I don’t... I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time.’

Lestrade glanced at him. ‘Have you ever... er... kissed a bloke?’

Sherlock nodded.

‘And sex?’

He nodded again.

‘Right, well, you’re better prepared than John. He’s only ever had sex with women so it’ll be you in the lead.’

Sherlock blushed furiously at the sudden thought of kissing John, of taking him, touching him, ravishing him. Would John let him do that? He wanted John to let him do that.

Christ, Sherlock was in love with him.

‘Finally,’ Lestrade muttered. He was a very good DI, even if Sherlock called him an idiot. ‘Bit of advice, Sherlock.’ Sherlock glanced up at him. ‘Have dinner, admit you love him, and bloody kiss him.’

And he walked away, leaving a confused sociopath genius gay man who suddenly had lost the ability to talk.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

John was beginning to feel like an idiot. Of course Sherlock had noticed the cologne, had noticed the change in clothes. He’d asked if John was trying to sleep with Sarah or if John was trying to impress Sarah so she’d sleep with him.

 _Dickhead. Stupid. Dense. Thick. Fucking stupid, stupid sociopath,_ John thought. _I’m trying to sleep with you, you idiot!_

John never had slept with another man but he couldn’t deny he wanted to fuck Sherlock, especially since DI Lestrade had pointed it out. John had been so confused about his feelings towards Sherlock. And Lestrade walked in, sat down, and pointed out the fucking obvious in about two minutes; John wanted Sherlock.

And now he felt like a real ponce. Sherlock hadn’t realised, or if he did he didn’t care. He kicked at a fence as he walked home and earned a throbbing toe.

 _Fucking stupid bloody fence,_ he thought angrily as he walked up the stairs to 221B. _You’re an idiot, John Watson. More so than that stupid, sexy sociopath._

He sighed and opened the door, closing it and throwing his jacket over the couch. He was done. No more cologne, no more nice clothes. Two months was too long. And Sherlock wasn’t an idiot. He had to have noticed by now which meant he wasn’t interested.

John sighed again. Someone cleared their throat and he turned. Sherlock was standing beside the kitchen table, smiling hesitantly... hesitantly? Since when was Sherlock Holmes not sure of something?

He was wearing that sexy purple shirt John had grown to moan over. His suit was tight fitting, his hair perfectly curly. He looked down at the table and John noticed the plates.

Spaghetti? What was Sherlock doing with spaghetti? Oh, God. It wasn’t spaghetti, was it? It was human organs that looked like spaghetti. Or something else completely disgusting that John didn’t want to think about.

‘It really is just pasta, John,’ Sherlock said. His voice was... tight, higher than his normal baritone. John was confused. ‘I... I made us dinner,’ Sherlock said.

John stepped into the kitchen slowly. ‘Dinner?’ Sherlock nodded. ‘Since when do you eat dinner?’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘I just thought we could... we could have dinner.’

He was really confused. ‘Sherlock, what is this?’

‘Erm...’ the genius froze. He looked John over carefully.

‘Sherlock?’

‘Date.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a date,’ Sherlock said.

John froze, eyes wide. A date? Sherlock and him, on a date? Sherlock Holmes wanted a date?

‘Of course, if you’re not interested we can stop,’ Sherlock said quickly. ‘There’s... there’s no need to.’

John looked at Sherlock carefully. His pupils were dilated, his face flushed. He was clenching and unclenching his fingers and his eyes were roaming over John’s body.

Unlike Sherlock Holmes, John understood when someone was attracted to him. He didn’t piss about trying to figure out why, he just acted.

He closed the gap between himself and Sherlock.

‘John?’ Sherlock questioned as John entered his personal space.

‘Shut up,’ John said and grabbed Sherlock by the back of the head. He pulled the genius’ lips to his own and kissed him softly.

Sherlock was frozen, hands by his side, as John kissed him. He scrambled back suddenly and there was John, looking hurt and confused and oh so sexy.

‘I don’t understand,’ Sherlock said quickly, ‘why would you want me? You’re straight.’

‘Apparently not,’ John said and gestured to his crotch. Sherlock could see that he had an erection and groaned softly. ‘Sherlock, what’s wrong?’

‘Why would you want me?’ Sherlock repeated. ‘You’ve seen what I do; you’ve seen what I am. I’m a sociopath, I don’t care about people, I’m dangerous and mad and a junkie and I don’t... why, why would you want that?’

John swallowed, realising that Sherlock was freaking out. The stupid man didn’t think he deserved John.

‘Sherlock, you’re a good man. A great man.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘Yeah, you are. Sherlock, you could do anything you want. You could be a criminal mastermind like Moriarty, but you aren’t. You work on the right side of the law.’

‘More rules,’ Sherlock muttered, ‘makes it harder.’

‘Bullshit,’ John said and Sherlock looked at him. ‘That’s what you tell yourself, Sherlock, but its complete crap. You do it because you actually care about people. Sure, you care about the puzzle, you thrive on the puzzle, but don’t act like you don’t care about people.’

‘I don’t,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘You care about me, Sherlock, I know you do,’ John said. ‘After everything we’ve been through don’t deny it.’ Sherlock was silent. ‘And I know you care about Mycroft, even if you two fucking act like enemies. And Lestrade, you like him, and Mrs Hudson.’

Sherlock was still silent and John closed the gap between them slowly, carefully.

‘Sherlock, you’re brilliant. You’re mad, funny, exciting, dangerous, interesting and absolutely sexy.’

Sherlock smiled slightly.

‘All those reasons are why I like you, why I want you,’ John said. ‘I’ve never wanted another man but that’s not going to stop me. I want you. Now please tell me you want me.’

‘I do.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ Sherlock said slowly, ‘you’re intelligent, and loyal, and fun, and not boring, and... and...’

‘And?’

The genius was blushing again. ‘And sexy,’ he murmured.

John grinned. ‘Good.’

‘Good?’

‘Yes.’

John leaned up and grabbed Sherlock again, hauling him in for a kiss. Like before, Sherlock froze. And then he unfroze because he wanted to kiss John back. He didn’t want to stand there like an idiot when a very sexy doctor had his arms wrapped around him.

John moaned as Sherlock’s tongue darted across his lips. He opened his mouth and Sherlock plunged his tongue into the hot wetness of John Watson’s mouth. Had John always tasted like this? How had Sherlock not realised? And his smell. It was doctor and cologne and London and the bus and... and John. It was smart and dangerous and sexy and _oh god what was John doing with his hands?_

John’s left hand was still snaking its way through Sherlock’s hair. His other was pulling Sherlock’s hips closer. They bumped into each other and Sherlock found himself moaning. John’s erection was pressing against his thigh and it was making him hard.

‘John, you’ve never done this before,’ Sherlock said against the doctor’s lips.

John didn’t stop kissing him. ‘Nope, never with a bloke.’

‘But with me?’

‘I want to with you.’

Sherlock smiled, satisfied. ‘And not with Lestrade?’

John pulled back. ‘What?’

Sherlock didn’t want to lose John’s lips. It was nice, it was tasty, he wanted them back. ‘Not... not with Lestrade, right?’

‘He’s just a friend.’

‘Really?’

John rolled his eyes. ‘For a genius, you sure can be thick.’

Sherlock smiled and grabbed John, pulling him closer.

‘I love _you,_ Sherlock,’ John said.

‘I know,’ the genius said.

‘Took you long enough to realise it.’

‘Shut up.’

John grinned. He pulled back and Sherlock whined. ‘Dinner,’ he said and sat down, coughing as his erection strained against his jeans. He looked up at Sherlock and saw the small bulge in his trousers. Smirking, because _Jesus Christ wasn’t it hot that John Watson could do that to Sherlock Holmes,_ John said, ‘You made dinner and we’re going to eat it.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I am.’

Pouting, Sherlock fell into the seat beside John. Sherlock looked down at the golden flakes of cheese sprinkled over maroon pasta sauce. He looked up at John, who was staring pointedly.

Sherlock knew John wanted him to eat so they could... so they could get to the good stuff. Because John, even though he clearly wanted to try new things with Sherlock, was a doctor first. He knew Sherlock barely ever ate.

With a huff, Sherlock stuck his fork into the food and took a large mouthful. He swallowed and saw John grinning.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Thank you, Sherlock.’

‘For what?’

‘Proving that I mean something to you.’

Sherlock watched as John tucked into his own food. While Sherlock didn’t want to eat, he realised it was important to John. And if John wanted him to eat, he would.

He ate slowly, making sure John could see that he was eating just for him.

‘I hate you,’ Sherlock said.

‘No you don’t.’

‘I do.’

‘You love me.’

Sherlock snorted but felt heat flush his cheeks. He glared at his food and John chuckled. He reached forward and took one of Sherlock’s hands, squeezing it softly to show that he was joking, that he loved Sherlock too. Sherlock pretended not to notice.

But, ever so softly, John felt Sherlock squeeze his hand back.


End file.
